


Would You Date Me? (check yes or no)

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint asks Phil out on a Monday and then spends Tuesday through Saturday freaking out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Date Me? (check yes or no)

**Author's Note:**

> I found this one in my WIP folder titled "inspired by Ralkana" and I have NO IDEA what might have done it. Absolutely no clue. It was just the first few paragraphs. I decided to finish it as a short fic to clear my brain, so here you go, internet world - have some fluff.
> 
> Beta'd by the utterly fantastic Ralkana, who (apparently) inspires me greatly. Even when I can't remember why.

Clint asked Phil out on a Monday.

It wasn’t a particularly special Monday. Phil had spent the weekend at S.H.I.E.L.D., but that wasn’t unusual. Clint had walked in on Monday morning to see his handler tired, rumpled, and generally out-of-sorts, but while that wasn’t typical, it also isn’t completely unheard of. Clint had looked at Phil, at the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes, at the way his hair was flat on one side - evidence, no matter how he'd tried to brush it out, that he’d slept at his desk - and he’d felt such a swell of emotion, of fondness, of appreciation, of _love_ , that it’d been impossible to hide. Some of it had leaked out onto his expression, and Phil’s eyes had gone wide.

Clint had taken a moment to curse, and to debate, but in the end he wasn’t a coward and he never had been, so before Phil could say anything, Clint had gathered up his courage and asked him out on a date.

“I - well, yes. Of course. Um.” Phil had paused long enough to glance at his calendar. He’d frowned. “Saturday night?”

Clint had agreed, given Phil the coffee he’d been bringing him, and walked out.

He’s been freaking out ever since.

Because - what? What had he been _thinking?!_ A _date?_ With _Phil?_ With the man who is completely, incredibly, out of Clint’s league? On _Saturday?_

Five days is not nearly enough time to prepare. 

“I need help,” Clint demands, rushing into the gym and sprawling at Natasha’s feet while she’s working on warm-up exercises. “Immediate, essential, I-will-do-whatever-you-want-me-to-do help.”

Natasha doesn’t blink, looking him up and down while maintaining her perfect yoga pose, but she does smile. “You asked Coulson out on a date.”

“Yes,” Clint groans, burying his face in his hands. “And now I don’t know what to do.”

Natasha straightens from her eight-angle position. “Okay, well, first things first. When is it?”

“Saturday,” Clint admits.

“And do you know where you are going to take him?”

Clint lets his wide eyes speak for themselves. 

“Okay, then,” Natasha says, wiping her hands on a towel. “We need a battle plan.”

Clint nods hurriedly. “Yes, a battle plan. Yes.”

They retire from the gym to Natasha’s quarters, because she’s an actual civilized human being and has throw pillows and stuff. Clint claims his usual perch in the back corner between her bookcase and the bed. 

“Let's lay it out step-by-step,” Natasha suggests. “Like an op, you’re good at that.”

“I’m no Senior Agent,” Clint scowls.

“You don’t have to be,” Natasha reassures him. “He’ll be completely focused on the part where it’s a _date_ with _you_. All you have to do is not screw it up completely.”

Clint’s heart gives a lurch. Screwing things up is his speciality. “Perfect.”

Natasha seems to understand. “It’ll be okay,” she says grimly, picking up a pencil. “We can do this.”

 

*

 

They can’t do this.

By Thursday, they’ve formulated and disregarded a half-dozen plans, including going to the movies - “I fall asleep,” Clint had admitted, because when he lived on the streets, the cinema had meant a safe place to rest for an hour or two at a time - and skating at Rockefeller Centre - “it’s October, Nat, not Christmas, and you know how terrible I am on skates,” to which she had laughed because yes, yes she did.

It’s a good thing they don’t have an op planned this week, because if Clint was sent into the field he’d probably _die_ , he’s so distracted.

_What about ice cream?_ he texts Nat near the end of the day.

_It has possibilities,_ Nat texts back, which leads to Clint spending three hours wandering the streets around Headquarters and absolutely overdosing on ice cream. He’d thought it’d make sense to try a flavour or two from each vendor, but that had meant unintentionally consuming roughly two pounds of sweets.

_Uuughhh,_ he texts Nat that evening when he gets back to his quarters.

_Are you dead?_ she sends a moment later.

_Lying on my bed, pants undone, can’t move,_ he texts back.

_Take a picture and send it to Coulson,_ Nat suggests.

Clint rolls his eyes. _I’m full, not drunk. Ice cream is officially a no go._

_Okay, but you have just under forty-eight hours. Better get cracking._

Clint curses and rolls over in bed.

He wakes in the morning with a full bladder, feeling bloated and more than a little gross. Thankfully, it’s only Friday, not Saturday, so he still has time to get his game on. Clint decides to head to the gym. He shoots arrows until his shoulders burn, which means it’s after lunch by the time he puts down his bow and crawls into the showers. Shooting usually clears his head, but he’s just as lost as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

What the fuck is he going to do?

Phil Coulson has agreed to a date. _A date._ With _him_. Clint has to impress him enough to distract him from the way it’s likely to end in flames. 

_I’m sitting in a meeting with Coulson, Sitwell, and Hill,_ Natasha texts him while he’s despondently shoving food into his face. _He’s stopped even pretending to pay attention._

Clint makes a face. _He’s probably realizing all the ways he should have said ‘thanks but no thanks, Barton’ and left it at that._

There’s a pause, and then Natasha sends, _I got a look at his phone. He’s googling restaurants._

Oh, god. Did Phil think Clint meant dinner? Clint had just assumed a first date meant drinks! _Do I need to wear a tie???_ he texts frantically.

_No clue. Do you want me to ask him?_ Natasha asks, because she is the _devil._

_DON’T YOU DARE,_ he types back. _I’m going to find a suit._

He doesn’t have any suits. Clint searches through his closet but it’s full of t-shirts, ratty jeans, and socks with holes in the heels. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What is he going to do? The only tie he can find is still stained with blood and engine grease because R&D hadn’t wanted it back after a mission. 

R&D! Clint leaps out of his room and hightails it to the costuming department. “Rita! Beautiful, lovely, gorgeous Rita. I need your help.”

Rita is a thirty-five year old transwoman Clint dated a while back. They’d managed to stay friends after a screaming match on 42nd Street, which is unusual for him. The ‘friends’ part, not the ‘screaming’ part. The screaming was pretty much par for the course. 

Unfortunately, their dates had mostly been ‘coffee and then my place’ kind of things. Coulson will obviously want something much fancier.

“Clint,” Rita says, grinning, looking up from the work-orders on her desk. “You just won me twenty bucks. Sitwell said he’d split the winnings if you really did come down here to get wardrobe help for your date.”

Clint blinks. “Jasper knows?”

Rita rolls her eyes. “I think _everybody_ knows. We’ve all been waiting with bated breath.”

Clint thunks his head down on Rita’s desk. “I’m going to fuck this up.”

“You aren’t,” Rita assures him. “Clint, listen to me. Do you like him?”

He looks up. “Yes.”

“Are you attracted to him?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Do you believe he likes you, too?”

Clint swallows. “Well, he agreed to the date. So it’s either that, or he’s brain damaged. Oh, god, he’s probably brain damaged.”

Rita laughs. “Very likely, but you should capitalize on that while you can. Now, let’s see what we can fit you with.”

Clint ends up shifting awkwardly in front of Phil’s office at six thirty on Saturday evening in his best suit. Rita had tried to talk him out of formal wear, but he’d demanded the suit pants and a fitted shirt, at least. She’d convinced him to leave the jacket off, so he’s draped it over his arm. 

He thinks he looks good. He’s _pretty sure_ he looks good. Rita had told him he looked good, anyway, and Nat had given him as assessing look and sent him up to Phil’s office, so that has to count for something.

At six thirty-five, Phil opens his door. “Oh,” he says, staring at Clint. He looks lost for words.

Clint clenches his toes inside his shoes to keep his nervousness from his face. “Hi.”

“Wow, you look - ”

Clint winces. “Like an idiot?”

“No,” Phil blurts. “Ridiculously hot.” He blushes. “Uh, I mean - ”

Clint’s never seen Phil look so flustered before. He smiles. “Thank you.”

Phil shifts uncomfortably. “I wasn’t sure, though. I mean, the suit is great, but…”

Clint’s stomach free-falls. “It’s not what you were expecting?”

“I honestly just thought you’d show up in jeans,” Phil confesses. “I mean, that’s what you normally wear on dates, what you’ve worn on the dates I’ve seen you leave for, not that I follow you or stalk you or anything. Oh, shit, now you totally think I stalk you. I don’t, I just meant - ”

Clint grins. “You notice me?”

Phil blushes deeper. “All the time,” he says, sounding honest.

Huh. “Well, I... wanted this date to be special. I mean, it’s _you_ , and I’ve had a crush on you for practically forever, so,” Clint feels his face heat. “I wanted to look good.”

“You always look good,” Phil reassures him. 

Clint meets his eyes. “So do you.”

They grin stupidly at each other for a minute before Clint coughs. “So, uh, I haven’t been able to figure out where we should go,” he finally admits. 

“What about we start with coffee,” Phil says, speaking slow, “and go from there?”

Clint licks his lips. “That doesn’t really seem like your style, sir.”

“There are still a lot of things you don’t know about me, and it’s ‘Phil,’ if we’re doing this. Besides,” Phil smiles. “I like coffee.”

“That you do,” Clint admits. “Um, okay. So should I go change?”

Phil very obviously scans him from the top, down, and then back up. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “Not unless you want to.”

Clint hesitates, but finally drops the borrowed suit jacket on the chair in front of Phil’s desk. “Maybe I’ll just leave this here.”

“Perfect,” Phil says. He slips his hands into his pocket, rocking backwards on his heels. “Should we go?”

Clint grins, ushering Phil out ahead of him. “After you, sir. Phil,” he corrects, when Phil looks back at him. “After you, Phil.”

Phil smiles. “Thank you, Clint. This way.”

 

~ The End


End file.
